Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, March 25, 1893

Excerpt

A Story of Defiance not Defence.

There was once a Battalion of Volunteers with its full complement of field, company, and non-commissioned officers, and rank and file. And according to experts the Regiment was a most valuable addition to the national defence. One day a General, covered over with gold lace and wearing a cocked hat, rode up to the Colonel and called him out.

"Colonel," said the General, "we are thinking of giving over your command to a C.O. of a Dépôt Centre. It won't interfere with you much and give you less to do. You may still call yourself Colonel—not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the Colonel did not seem to see it, and so he sent in his papers and rode away.

Then the General from the War Office called up the two remaining Field Officers.

"Majors" said he, "it seems to us we can help you a good deal by appointing a Major from a service battalion as Adjutant. Then you can rank beneath him, and he can look after you and the two half battalions you each of you are supposed to command. You may still call yourselves Majors—not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the Majors did not seem to see it, so they sent in their papers too.

Then the General from the War Office called up the Company Officers.

"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall continue the snubbing, of which you have had so much experience. You will do all sorts of new work, and go to all sorts of fresh expense in the near future. Not that it will increase your dignity—not a bit of it. However, you may still call yourselves Captains and Lieutenants—not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the Company Officers did not seem to see it, so they sent in their papers and marched away. Then the General from the War Office called up the rest of the Regiment.

"Now, Non-commissioned Officers and Men," said he, "you have no one to command you, and no one to pay for your marches out, prizes, and the rest of it. But don't let that bother you. You may still call yourselves Soldiers—not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the remainder of the Regiment did not seem to see it, so they sent in their resignations, and vanished.

Then the Officer from the War Office rode towards Pall Mall.

"It won't interfere with me much," said he, "and give the Department less to do. And I can still call myself General—though I scarcely deserve the title, either on or off parade!"

["Why should not women take the B.A. degree?... Unfortunately the older Universities have resented every attempt at breaking down their cherished exclusiveness."—From an Article in "The Contemporary Review" for March.]

Despotic Dons' dominion

Still subjugates us all,

They scoff at our opinion,

Our purposes miscall;

Will no deliverer appear,

And is it vainly, as we fear,

We hold our meetings every year

Within St. James's Hall?

Our wrongs, if brought to knowledge,

Would surely move your hearts,

Degreeless from her College

The Wrangler-ess departs;

And shall not too the maids, who can

Give all the usages of á¼€ν,

As well as any living man

Be Bachelors of Arts...?